


Spirit of a Bard

by SGALOVER



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Curses, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Ghost Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert has a heart, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Soul Bond, Swearing, mentions of romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGALOVER/pseuds/SGALOVER
Summary: “Kiss my ass you festering shitnugget!”As last words go, not the most profound.  But even with his final breath Lambert can sneer in the face of the disgusted Noble who ordered him killed.Isn't Lambert surprised when his execution goes off track in the most unpredictable way.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert
Comments: 9
Kudos: 108





	1. Curse or Bond?

“Kiss my ass you festering shitnugget!”

As last words go, not the most profound. But even with his final breath Lambert can sneer in the face of the disgusted Noble who ordered him killed. Let his eyes shine with defiance and malicious glee as the rope around his neck goes tight. Every remaining iota of strength goes toward keeping his expression fixed like that, even as he feels his neck strain. Then all of that becomes pointless because instead of dying Lambert keeps falling. At least he knows he must look less stupid than the asshole Noble who is screaming like a tiny child. Surprisingly, he isn't screaming at Lambert. Instead he’s pointing to something on the scaffold above the Witcher. The crowd’s previous cheers of horrible delight have devolved into wails of terror. Some fall to their knees while others flee.

Lambert struggles against his bound hands and feet now that everyone is distracted. His brain tries to think too hard about how close he just came to death. Lambert forces it to instead focus on how he’s alive but might not be for long if whatever is above him really is worth the riot forming in the center of this stupid town. Just as he manages to pull his extra emergency dagger from its place in the lining of his thick boots a voice echoes in the air. Air which has become gradually colder over the last few seconds.

“I warned you Philas.” the voice, despite being loud enough to echo throughout the square, is oddly soft. Though it does carry a heavy sense of angry disappointment, “No more innocent blood after mine. You couldn't even make it a year. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“NO!” the Noble shrieks, hand in his messy brown hair as he stared at the scaffold in terror, “YOU WEREN’T LIKE HER! THIS CAN’T BE!”

Lambert cuts his binds easily, taking particular care to rip the noose off as violently as possible. He takes a chance and peers out from under the wooden platform above. What he sees makes him gasp. Decades on the Path brought many horrible sights to a Witcher. Especially when it came to Spirits. As horrible as physical beasts could be Lambert had always hated the incorporeal more. Too much effort just to land a solid hit, and his bombs hardly ever did anything but slow the fuckers down. Horrible rotted faces with distended tongues and skeletal hands that reached for vulnerable flesh. Air so cold it could give a regular human frostbite in a matter of moments. Haunting screams that could linger in the dreams of those that heard it for months, sometimes years. Always awful, disgusting, terrifying things. Except this one.

At first glance the Spirit could have been mistaken for a young man. Not even twenty if Lambert was any judge of human ages. Brown hair that resembled the asshole Noble’s perfectly framed a soft, round face. A fine red outfit, brighter than what the average person would wear, adorned a slim figure. Silk clad arms crossed over the slightly broad chest while a slippered foot tapped soundlessly on the scaffold platform. Only a few obvious things marked the being as a Spirit. A slight transparency, the horribly obvious bruising in the shape of a noose around the thing’s neck, and the way it’s blue eyes glowed so brightly Lambert wondered if he’d be able to take their full gaze head on.

“What the fuck?” Lambert muttered in horrified awe as the Spirit pointed accusingly at the asshole Nobel

“I’ll give you one last chance, Philas. Prostrate yourself before the innocent soul you tried to take from this world. Beg forgiveness and, given or not, I shall spare you.”

“There is no innocent soul here!” was screamed back in protest as the Noble’s anger turned to shaking terror as the reality of whatever was happening fully set in

“If that were true Cousin, I would not be here.” Lambert freezes as those glowing orbs turn to meet his own. Lambert is mildly shocked that he can in fact take the full intensity of that gaze, “What crime are you supposed to have committed Sir?”

“I ain’t a fucking Sir.” he says out of reflex, wincing once his brain catches up with his mouth

The Spirit chuckles and inclines it’s head in apology, “My mistake. What should I address you as then?”

“Lambert.” he replies bluntly

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, former Viscount de Lettenhove.” the Spirit gave a short but dramatic bow before offering a soft smile, “So Lambert, what crime were you about to be executed for?”

“Killing a monster and asking to be paid.” Lambert says bluntly again

“Lies!” they both turn to look at the Noble, who strangely enough Lambert knows to be the _current_ Viscount de Lettenhove. The rat is pale and sweating as his few remaining guards, the ones who didn't flee in terror, crowd around him, “He failed and tried to threaten Coin from me!”

“I didn't fail!” Lambert shouted in anger, guilt mixing with his fury as he repeated words spoken several times over already, “I got there too late to save the girl! That wasn't my fault! I killed that fucking Feind and brought you back it’s head!”

“But not my Trisha!”

“Oh Philas.” instead of looking sympathetic the Spirit, Julian, looks more enraged than when they had started, “You drove her away again. And I wasn't there to foolishly convince her to return. I wish I had told her to flee long ago.” Julian sighs, “At least she is now farther away from you than you will ever reach.”

“Fool! Liar! Witch!” the Noble has devolved into screaming and crying

“Judge.” Julian corrects as he reaches out to the thin air and plucks a lute from nothing, “Hear the song of my grief.” he spoke as ghostly fingers found a place to rest on pale strings, “And let it drag you to your dark afterlife.” from the first note Lambert is driven to his knees. Feelings of sadness and crippling loneliness the likes of which he hasn't felt since the sacking of Kaer Morhen flow over his entire body. But as soon as it comes it vanishes. It’s only then that Lambert realizes he had started to cry, his cheeks wet with freshly shed tears. The haunting song still echoes around the Square. All those who remain are wailing in various states of pain and distress. Well, almost all. A few look terrified more at what is going on around them then from the song. Lambert looks up at the Spirit and shivers, heart still racing, as he sees a look of pure vindictive rage directed solely at the Viscount de Lettenhove. 

Said Viscount is currently bleeding from every visible hole, even through certain sections of his skin. The guards can do nothing but watch as, driven by pain induced insanity, the Noble begins to claw at his own eyes. Lambert watches in cold detachment as the man who had ordered him killed died in a puddle of blood and piss. Only once it’s over does Lambert remember that he’s without his weapons with a vengeful Spirit close at hand.

Before he can consider what to do Julian speaks. The Lute has vanished so his arms are free to spread wide, like he needs to draw attention when he’s already the very center of it, “Bring the Witcher all that is his and let him leave. And remember this day. For those who kill the innocent will be granted death more painful than anything imaginable!” with nothing further added Julian vanishes without a sound 

The silence that follows lasts for several minutes. Lambert isn't sure if anyone really breathes. But then something snaps and people are rushing all around. Before Lambert can really consider what to do he’s being given his bags, weapons, horse, and even an extra pack of food along with his pay. Then he’s shoved out of town so fast he almost twists his ankle. For nearly an hour Lambert just walks. His feet mostly move on auto pilot, his hold on Horse’s reins tight yet gentle as he leads the beast along. Lambert tries to process everything that just happened. A vengeful Spirit, some kind of Wraith probably. Or maybe just a lingering curse? Lambert cursed his lack of information or clear path ahead. On one hand he should go back and try to free the town of the Spirit. Who knows what it could become if left alone, especially when it was already so powerful. It probably wouldn't be too difficult to find the place where the man was buried. A simple cleansing ceremony followed by a quick burn would be enough to solve the issue. On the other hand though, fuck Lettenhove and everyone in it. A part of him hoped the Spirit got whatever revenge it wanted. He stopped in the middle of the road and sighed, “Fuck.” he growled before turning and starting to head back the way he came. They had better accept his help or he was going to be so pissed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shit!” Lambert pulled out his silver sword so fast it sparked on the way. He leveled it right in the semi-transparent face of Julian. For a moment they just looked at each other in shock. Then Lambert blurted, “What are you doing here?!”

“I thought maybe you could tell me that.” Julian shrugged and pointed a slightly limp finger at the tip of Lambert’s sword, “That is, if you weren't planning to try to kill me...again.” he frowned, “Or go back to Lettenhove apparently. So I’ll ask again, what do you think you’re doing? I just barely managed to get you out of there the first time. Why are you turning around?”

“To deal with you.” Lambert replied honestly

“Me?” Julian blinked in clear confusion, “What’s to deal with? I’m no harm to anyone.”

“Seriously? After I just watched you sing a guy into a pile of bloody goo?”

Julian winced, “I’ll admit, that’s something I couldn't do when I was alive. But I would never do it to someone who didn't deserve it.” his brows pinched, “And to be perfectly honest I’m not entirely sure how I accomplished it in the first place. It just...felt like the thing to do.”

“Yeah, cause that’s so comforting.” against his better judgement Lambert lowers his sword. Julian didn't appear hostile at the moment, more confused. Maybe it really was a curse? Possibly something Lambert could help with. Lambert sighed for the second time in as many minutes and asked, “Why are you a Spirit?”

“Because I’m dead?” Julian snarks with a raised eyebrow

“No smartass. What did you do when you were dying? Everyone back at the town looked freaked out to see you, almost like they were expecting you. Have you shown up before?”

“Not that I know of.” Julian shook his head, “It’s all a bit fuzzy to tell you the truth. Just let me…” Julian’s glowing eyes dim, his gaze suddenly so far away, “There was a party...blood...screaming. I remember being scared and alone. No one came to save me. I didn't want anyone to feel that way when they didn't deserve it. I…” Julian gasps, his eyes clearing a bit, “Mother?”

“No, I’m Lambert.” Lambert said slowly, slightly worried that the Spirit wasn't as stable as he had first appeared

“No.” Julian waves away the words like smoke in the air, “My mother, she...well, she was a bit of a Witch. A lovely woman by all accounts, but a practitioner of sinister magics. I always assumed her gifts passed me by. But I recall feeling something in my final moments, and using it to imbue my words with a promise to the person who killed me.”

“Your Cousin, the asshole Viscount?”

“The very one.” Julian nodded and furrowed his brows in deep thought, “But I’m not sure why all of that means I’m still here. Shouldn't I have, I don’t know, gone somewhere? I feel like I’ve done what I set out to do and all that.”

“Hm.” Lambert considered the Spirit before him for a few moments, “I need a damn drink for this. I’m making camp.”

“I’d offer to help but…” Julian set one of his ghostly arms through a tree near him while offering a self deprecating smile

Lambert snorted, “Just try and think about everything that could be important while I get unpacked. Should only take ten minutes or so to get it all sorted out. After I get a drink out we can get down to the meat and bones of whatever this crazy shit is about.”

\---------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------

“What were your last words?” Lambert asks after his first solid pull of White Gull once sat down next to a roaring fire

Julian makes a little squawking sound, “Don’t you think that’s a bit personal?”

“Not really sure.” Lambert admits as he actually takes a second to think about it, “Not a question a person usually gets to ask seriously.”

“Suppose that’s true.” Julian concedes but still looks slightly offended, “If you must know it was something about not letting harm come to the next innocent soul Philas tried to hang from that gallows.”

“Can you remember the exact words?” Lambert tried to clarify, “Magic is a stickler for details in the weirdest fucking way sometimes.”

“There was a lot going on at the time.” Julian’s indignant expression has turned mildly haunting, his eyes seeing far away again, “So much noise and pain.”

“Julian, are you still with me?”

“Yes, sorry, it’s just...a lot” Julian looks tired, even for a dead man

“I figured.” Lambert almost offers Julian a drink but stops himself just in time, “Just...do your best I guess.”

“Right.” Julian takes a few deep breaths, which is odd to watch a Spirit do, “I curse thee, Philas Pankratz, for taking an innocent life. May the next innocent you try to take from this world be protected by my full heart and soul. And may you feel my pain a thousand fold before you die for your crimes.”

“Okay, so it is a curse.” Lambert said, “I mean, you even used the fucking word!” 

“Yes, clearly.” Julian sighed and stared at the fire for a few moments, “But if I killed Philas already then what am I still doing here?”

“That’s the real question of the night.” Lambert decided he could lean backward since Julian had given no hostile moves in the last hour. He let his gaze drift through the tree branches above, occasionally catching sight of stars, “You killed your asshole cousin and stopped me from being killed for no reason. Seems pretty straight forward…” Lambert tailed off as a particular part of the curse caught in his brain, “You said you'd protect that innocent with your full heart and soul right?”

“Suppose so.” Jullian has moved so he’s now sitting closer to Lambert’s head

“Fuck!” Lambert pushed himself up and met the Spirit’s glowing blue eyes straight on, “I think you Bound us.”

“What?” Julian blinks and tilts his head in obvious confusion

“Seriously? I thought you said you knew about your mom’s witchy stuff?” Lambert asked incredulously

Julian frowned, “I knew some about my mother. Even have a few fond memories. But she left long before I was old enough to form any real bond with her. My father always said it was because I lacked her affinity for the Magic Arts.” Jullian snorts derisively and motions at his transparent self, “We see how accurate that statement was only now. Though truthfully I’ve never believed him and his claims about what happened to her.” a wayward hand made it up to the horrible bruise that stood out against the pale skin of Julian’s neck, “He claimed family would look after family when he died as well. Suppose that simply means my Uncle and cousins were far better liars.”

“Clearly.” Lambert said bluntly though his heart felt oddly heavy at the tone the boy spoke in, “And now it’s my problem until I burn your bones to ash.”

Julian blinked at him, “You mean...you’re still going to do it?” 

Lambert narrows his eyes and tenses, “You saying you’ll try and stop me?”

“I mean...I’m not really sure.” Julian answers in a seemingly honest tone. It unnerves Lambert to be having a conversation of this magnitude with a creature who doesn't possess a heart. He can’t tell if the thing is really lying or not. But the way the spirit’s eyes wander around the clearing, seemingly lost in thought other than glimpsing something unseen by the human eye, Lambert believes the words, “I don’t think I expected to come back at all. Much less come back and then linger around like some useless tag-along.” Julian looks Lambert dead in the eye, those glowing orbs seeming so lost for the first time, “Do you think…I could have something more?”

“More?” Lambert is confused anew

“More than your average ghost I mean.” Julian clarifies, “That is to say, I’m not feeling particularly vengeful now that my horrible cousin has shed his mortal skin. But I also find this odd urge to keep being around.”

“That’s probably because we’re Bonded or whatever.” Lambert rationalizes, “And what would you even do? You can’t touch anything.”

‘I play music!” the lute appeared from thin air once more and landed in Julian’s lap, to the Spirit’s obvious surprise, “Oh look, she came back.” Lambert felt his left eye twitch when the Spirit kissed the lute gently and whispered, “I’ll never let you go again my sweet.”

“Put that damn thing away!” Lambert tried not to shout. It was hard when the memory of what that instrument had done previously ran through his mind, “Do you want to kill me too?!”

Julian looked horrified, “Perish the thought!” he put the lute behind his back which did nothing to hide it considering how transparent he was, “I’m not trying to hurt anyone right now. I just want to play songs. It’s all I’ve ever wanted...or did.” the defensiveness crumbled into that same pained and tired look again, “I...there wasn't any reason for Philas to…” Julian paused a moment before continuing, “All I ever wanted to do was be a Bard. I even went to Oxenfurt and graduated top of my class in the Seven Liberal Arts.”

“Seriously?” Lambert was actually a bit impressed at the statement. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if the fucker had graduated early, young as he looked.

“Indeed.” a smile, bitter and mournful, crawled onto Julian’s face, “I was going to announce it to my family at my welcome home feast. Sure, they would have been angry. But I was positive it would be the start of a grand adventure from which I would draw inspiration for my songs.” a scoff, as bitter as the smile, “If only they could have waited to…” Julian’s eyes became distant again, his grip on the lute loosening enough for it to slip back out from behind him.

“Hey, focus.” Lambert said in a stern but soft tone. Something about this Spirit, perhaps the Bond, was making Lambert feel far too much fucking empathy. Julian blinked and raised his blue gaze to meet Lambert’s yellow, “So, you just wanted to play music?”

“Still do I suppose.” Julian admitted, hefting up the lute and placing it into play position, “It’s...probably the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted.”

Lambert gave that some thought for a moment, “Play.”

“What?” Julian’s fingers twitched but he didn't touch the strings

“If you’re sure it won’t make me fucking melt then you should play. Maybe you just need an audience?” Lambert sighed, “I’ll admit it’s a long shot though. If it’s a true Bond we’re going to need a Sorceress to separate us.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that.” Julian hedged

“I hate Sorceresses.” Lambert said bluntly, “Bunch of self righteous bitches who think they know everything. Same for those prickless Sorcerers. And even if I knew for sure where one was and I wanted to go there, there isn't a guarantee that you won’t lose it on the way there and kill me in my sleep or something.”

“WHAT?!” Julian clutched his lute like it was going to protect him from Lambert’s words, “What do you mean _kill you_? I don’t want to kill you? I saved you!”

“I’m hoping this bond will be enough to keep your fucking head on straight. But it’s just as likely your dead brain will start to decay in some way. I’ve heard stories, mostly when I was training, of spirits who appeared sane up until…”

“Until they weren't anymore.” Julian finishes Lambert’s sentence with sad eyes pinned on the fire

“Yeah.”

They sit for so long Lambert finishes his drink and stands to fetch more, plus a little cheese, from his pack. When he turns around Julian is gone. Looking around Lambert can’t spot him anywhere. For a few minutes Lambert considers searching for the Spirit. But in the end he figured it was basically pointless. Perhaps both he and Julian had been wrong and the curse simply had to take time to wear off. Lambert spent a moment wondering if that was better or worse than the alternative. Before he could consider the conclusion Julian reappeared as the Witcher was laying down his bedroll. There was no noise or even a twitch from Lambert’s medallion. The Spirit simply popped into being between one blink and the next. 

With a determined face Julian said, “You need to destroy my remains.” Before Lambert could even ask him where he had gone off to

“What?” Lambert was genuinely shocked, “I thought you wanted more or whatever.”

“Of course I want more.” Julian said, that determined look only growing firmer, “But the good of the one is outweighed by the good of the many. And while Philas deserved to die I don’t want to make others, innocents like I was once, come to any harm because of me. If I must pick between the two options the choice should be obvious. Especially to a fine Witcher like yourself.”

“I...you really want me to destroy you?” Lambert asked, his shock almost felt numbing. Never had any monster asked for death like this. Never had one recognized the danger it posed and thrown itself to his feet so readily.

“You make it sound so dramatic.” the determined eyes stay hard but those plump lips lift into a bitter grin, “That mixed with your propensity for swearing leads me to believe you would have made a wonderful poet. Perhaps you could say something nice over my ashes once I’m gone.”

“You...really want me to do this?” Lambert wasn't sure he liked the idea so much now. Being asked to kill as opposed to defending himself or others felt...different. Like taking that step would mean something wrong. Something a Witcher, a Wolf Witcher at least, shouldn't do.

“Consider it the last wish of a potential Viscount to his people.” 

Lambert never was a conventional Witcher, “Where do they bury people in Lettenhove?” 

\-----------------------------BREAK----------------------------------------

“It’s more than I expected if I’m honest.” Julian sounds hollow

Lambert can understand why. Witchers never really got proper burials. Lambert figures he’ll die alone in some cave and rot away alone and forgotten. But humans, especially nobility, tend to worry more about their resting places. The cemetery they were currently standing in had a rather glorious mausoleum. The name Pankratz was carved into the stone over the doorway. But that is not where the sudden mountain of fresh offerings had sprung up in the area. Flowers, small bags of coin, and bits of food had been placed around a marker at the edge of the farthest row of plots. The name on it was obviously only hours old, indicating the marker had previously been blank.

“I suppose I’m lucky they even buried me in the cemetery. Criminals don’t usually get that.”

“You still haven't told me what you’re supposed to have done.” Lambert says bluntly, uncomfortable at the display of vulnerability before him. He starts to move aside the offerings, making room to dig up Julian’s remains. It won't take long with the stolen shovel Lambert has.

Julian looks up at the dark night sky and sighs, “I was hanged for the murder of my father, the previous Viscount.”

“Guessing since your curse had to do with innocence that you didn't fucking do that.” Lambert quipped as he began his work at an even pace.

“No...but I saw it.” Julian sounds like his throat is too dry. More human behavior from something that was so clearly not, “We had only stepped away for a moment. My father, myself...and Philas. The rat said he had something he wanted to show us. I readily agreed because I found it the perfect opportunity to express my wishes to leave and travel abroad. But the moment we were all alone on the balcony there was this sound. Almost like air and metal vibrating as one. This man simply appeared behind my father from over the railing. It was over in seconds. I had been standing close so I was covered in…”

Lambert looks up and gasps. The moonlight is shining through Julian’s form like swamp fog. Any color that had made Julian vibrant before was completely drained. Clothing, hair, and skin all grey while the Spirit floated about half a hand off the ground. Those once blue eyes were fixed on the full white orb that hung in the sky, “Julian?”

“I was so stunned. I couldn't even move as the assassin turned to me. I could just stand there and wait to die. But instead of killing me the man turned and handed Philas the very dagger that had killed my father. With a wicked smile the slimy snake cut across his own arm and ran off screaming.” Julian lets out a lost sounding laugh as tears that shone like translucent diamonds drip down his face and neck. More behavior that far too much resembled that of humans. The Witcher hadn't even known Spirits _could_ cry. Lambert turns back to his task, not wanting to see such a look of anguish on such a pretty face “The assassin vanished and the court believed my cousin when he cliamed I had attempted to murder both himself and my father. It wasn't a hard battle to win. I’d been off for so long. No one knew the kind of man I had become yet. And despite my pleas and accounts the assassin was never found and I was executed as the true murderer.” the only sound that follows for several minutes is the shovel moving in the dirt

Lambert felt the dirt take on that special texture it got when a decaying body was present recently. He put the shovel away and started in with taking away large handfuls. Not long after that he found what he had been digging for. Seems the bugs in this soil did a good job. Most of the fabric and meat had been eaten away, probably due to a lack of coffin. The noose was even still around the clearly broken neck of the corpse. Lambert frowns and mutters a soft, “Shit.” to himself. Even as a Spirit the kid isn't really that bad. Willing to give up whatever sort of afterlife he might have had a chance at just in case he went a little rotten. Seemed the kind of unfair that Lambert hated the most. Staring down at the rotting thing before him and attempting to connect it with the ethereal presence not so far away Lambert makes a choice. One he hopes he will live to never regret. With a grunt of mild effort Lambert pulls the barley whole remains from the ground. This is enough to draw Julian from whatever horrible daydream he’s caught in. The sight of his own decayed corpse makes the color quickly return and then pale in Julian’s cheeks, albeit in a much more human way than before.

“Wow. Death truly has no mercy I suppose.” Julian sounds like he is moments from tearing up again

“Look away. You won’t like this next part.” Lambert says as he shakes a bottle of oil

Julian straightens, all weakness vanishing in ways only the Nobles have ever been able to manage, “Yes, of course. Thank you again Lambert. You are the kindest person I have ever met.”

“Funny, most people call me an asshole.” Lambert replies on reflex

Julian lets out a bark of laughter, the grin on his face soft yet full of cheer nonetheless, “That too. But only, I suspect, as a result of the treatment you’re given.” Julian turns and says softly as his head tilts up toward the moon, “Do what must be done.”

“Right.” Lambert pours the oil onto the torso of the corpse at his feet. But before he sets it alite he raises his shovel one more time. With a decisive motion Lambert severs the head from the spine at the base of the neck. Considering the state of the skeleton it’s not a hard task. Julian almost turns, his shoulder flinching as if feeling just a little something. In the end Lambert manages to remove the head and set the body aflame before Julian seems to notice anything amiss. Even then it’s only because the fire has started to burn low and the Spirit still remains.

“Does it really take so…” Julian pauses, gaze fixed on the bag Lambert just pulled from his supplies. It’s freshly bulging with Julian’s skull. That gaze flits from the burned ashes to the full sack and back several times, “Is that...did you…”

Lambert just turns and heads for the exit, “This way, if you go nuts before we can find help, I’ll have a super easy time getting rid of you.”

“And what if I attack you in your sleep?” Julian asks as he walks up beside Lambert, the grin on his face a mixture of cheeky and melancholy

“You’d never manage it. Far too fucking loud and dramatic.” Lambert laughs when he sees the face a shocked Spirit can make. He’s almost positive the average human jaw can’t drop that far, no matter the level of indignation.


	2. A Bard's Journey

There are few things that bring joy to a Witcher’s life. Lambert may be young but he’s heard enough from others to figure things out fast. Stuff that is too good to be true usually is. Vanishing like a cruel joke, more often than not in the form of a trap. But the more Lambert travels with Julian the more he wants those words to not be true. With every day they are together it seems the Spirit grows more solid. He never floats, sometimes sleeps, and Lambert even saw him eyeing an ale in that last tavern. Speaking of taverns…

“Maybe I could really play.” Julian is proclaiming with a wide smile, “I know we said I should wait but, with how well people interacted with me at the last place maybe it wouldn't be a horrible idea.” he looks at Lambert like a sad puppy, “Do you think…” he plucks at the strings of the ghostly lute in his lap

Lambert has long forgotten his original fear of the object. It’s just an instrument now in the hands of an appeased Spirit, “I mean, they asked at the last fucking place.” Lambert hedges. Julian had seemed ready to jump, yet, “You didn't take them up on it.”

“I was just remembering…” Julian trails off and Lambert knows why. The ghost may not sleep often but Lambert has woken for a midnight piss more than once and found the Bard looking into the burning fire like it held the answers to life. Lambert knew that look.

“You’ve been practicing. You sound way better.” Lambert focuses on his roasting rabbit

“Well, if you think I’m ready.” When Lambert doesn't speak up against it Julian beams in that way which makes Lambert’s stomach feel a bit warm, “I’ll confront the next Tavern owner we meet!” Lambert already feels like he’s created a monster

\--------------------------BREAK------------------------------

Eskel can’t really understand where it’s coming from. At first it was just a few repeated sentences from town to town, like some sort of inside joke. The occasional man or woman approaching him with a grin and the line

_“Even Witchers must eat.”_

falling from their lips as they press a coin to his palm. Sometimes children bring him crowns of flowers proclaiming

_“Dark haired Witchers with crowns of flowers are blessed Sir, the Bard said so!”_

After that it was just a few short questions to the statement

_“Oh, do you not know Master Witche?. A new Bard, traveling with a Witcher like yourself, sings the praises of your Kind. And also of the tribulations that you Witcher’s face.”_

This sentence had been followed by a free meal and a half price room. It left Eskel reeling. All he could hope is that this Bard, whoever he may be, never had a falling out with whatever Witcher he had latched on to.

\---------------------------BREAK-----------------

Geralt rides Roach down the road, his mind whirling with possibilities. A short confrontation with a so-called demon had ended up with him almost killed by elves. It seemed the only thing stopping that was Geralt’s own defense and the songs of some Bard called Jaskier. A Bard who sang of the hidden goodness and pride of Witchers who most thought simply monsters. Seemed Geralt’s words had proven the Bard’s true enough to justify Geralt’s release. Geralt made a mental note to buy the man a drink if he ever got the chance.

\------------------------------BREAK----------------------------------

“You know, sometimes I wonder if I’m really dead.” Julian, dubbed Jaskier just a few short months ago, says as he stares down at the meat he holds in his hands

Lambert pauses, his own food half way away from his mouth. He lowers his food and then admits, “Sometimes I forget you are.”

“What?” Jaskier looks a bit shocked to have his idea gain that much traction

“It’s just...you’ve started to eat.” Lambert points at the second bedroll he had bought and now laid out each night, “You sleep if there is something comfortable enough around, and it actually seems to do something for you. Jaskier, you hugged me yesterday.”

“You lived through that awful Harpy nest! I thought you would…”

“You’ve never touched me before. Or anyone I think. Well, outside of the occasional flower or meal.” Lambert interrupts before Jaskier can once more go off on what he thinks was a near death experience for the Witcher.

“That...I had to have…” Jaskier is looking at the fire again. Then, as Lambert watches, his gaze shifts to his hands. Hands that look so much more solid than they used to, “Do you think it’s the Bond?” he asks after several long minutes of silence

“Probably.” Lambert smirks, “After all, you are one of a kind. Only ghost to ever have a career.”

“Only until we find that Sorceress.” Jaskier jokes. They’ve long given up actively looking. Perhaps they just enjoy each other’s company. Perhaps Jaskier is simply enjoying his new afterlife while Lambert reaps the benefits. Either way Lambert can’t really picture his life without the Spirit anymore. So this sort of discussion has become something of a nightly ritual.

Lambert opens his mouth to reply when a shuffle from the underbrush near the main road draws his attention. Holding up a hand Lambert silently slips into the shadows just out of sight of the fire. It’s become a practiced routine since Jaskier started to become more solid. He made great Bandit bait, already being dead and all. So Lambert prepared for the worst until a familiar frame slunk from the forest nearest Jaskier, dagger held in a mildly threatening way, “I smell a Wolf but only see something more curious. Tell me, are you an illusion or an apparition?” the dagger shines with the familiar sheen of silver in the firelight 

“He’s a friend, like you Aiden.” Lambert says as he walks back into his own camp, “So how about you say hello to Jaskier and join us for supper.”

“Aiden, the Cat?” Jaskier looks excited and suddenly Lambert remembers one very embarrassing night when he had shown Jaskier one of his hidden moonshine cellars. It had been converted from a small bandit cash he had unearthed about thirty years ago. One of many such places all over this damned Continent. And that particular batch of booze had caused Lambert’s lips to loosen in a way they rarely did. 

“You talk about me?” Aiden seemed oddly pleased by that

Lambert didn't blush, “Sometimes, when I’m super drunk.”

“Charming.” Despite the sarcastic tone, Aiden sounds sincere somehow, “So, do you just make it a habit to pick up weirdo people or what?” he asks as he sits down next to Jaskier. In a gesture that somehow disturbs Lambert to see, Aiden sticks a finger through Jaskier’s thigh like the transparent matter it truly is, “Do I want to know the story here?”

Lambert isn't sure what to say. No one has ever really figured it out before. Jaskier is limber enough that he can dodge all of the wandering hands that reach for him during his shows. Sometimes Lambert wonders if one day the Bard will actually fall through a table and blow his already flimsy cover. It makes sense that a Witcher could identify the Spirit but it still felt a bit like being exposed. So instead of really addressing the issue Lambert says, “Not sure. Is it gonna be more interesting than the story of why you came barging into my camp like you own the fucking place?”

“Perhaps.” Aiden’s smirk took on a certain quality that had Lambert feeling hot under his collar, “Depends on if you like a carnal type of tale.”

Jaskier cleared his throat as he stood, dusting off the nonexistent dirt that clung to his bright silks, “I think I’m going to try and find a lake near here. I spotted one a few miles back if I recall. See you in the morning dear Witchers.” and like that Lambert’s only backup vanished without even a pop

“Traitor.” Lambert managed to croak as Aiden started to slink around the fire with the look of a predator after prey

\----------------------------------BREAK-----------------------------------

“Come on. I never ask you for stuff.” Lambert wasn't whining or begging, just for the record. The look Geralt was giving him showed his brother did not agree with his previous statement, “Okay, I haven't asked you for stuff in a long fucking time.” Geralt tilted his head. Lambert kept his grin internal. He was making headway, “He’s my friend.”

“Then you can do it.” Geralt growled before ducking under the water of his hot bath. The horrible stench of monster guts wafted from the second batch of hot liquid. Lambert huffed while his brother made a show of scrubbing at his hair under the water. Reaching into the bag Jaskier had practically forced into his hands before Lambert had entered this room the younger Witcher pulled out a small vial. Without much thought and far more practice than he’d like to admit, Lambert uncorked the bottle and let a few drops of subtly scented perfume drip into the water of Geralt’s bath. With speed due to any Witcher Geralt emerged from the water with a loud, “What the fuck Lambert?!”

“Gotta smell good for the Banquet.” Lambert explained as he pulled out a small bag of special salt and sprinkled a bit into the bathwater

“I’m not going you asshole!” Geralt growled while making a grab for the salt pouch. As he does so he seems to notice his dirty clothing is missing from the floor. The pale haired Witcher stiffens as Lambert feels his grin start to grow, “Where are my clothes Lambert?”

“Being cleaned. But not to worry, I’ve got something for you to wear.” Lambert holds the grin but his eyes show his worry for his friend when Geralt meets his gaze, “Please Geralt. I already agreed to do a different job. I can’t do both. And he...needs someone to look after him.”

They hold gazes for what seems like hours before Geralt’s glare softens. He closes his eyes and sighs in defeat, “What’s his name?”

\---------------------BREAK----------------------------------

Lambert is going to be paying Geralt back for the rest of his pathetic life. Geralt decides this the second he meets the Bard, the fucking _Bard_ , that Lambert has apparently befriended. And despite his constant rambling and prancing about the man never seems to run out of energy. From the sounds of it though that might have more to do with it being Jaskier’s first real experience performing for Royalty.

“You picked a terrible Queen to start with.” Geralt puts in his two coppers when he can’t stand to hear Jaskier go on about it anymore, “If you do one thing wrong she’ll have your head.”

“Ah, but that’s why I have you!” Jaskier declares, not missing a single beat in the conversation or step on the road, “Lambert assured me that you were the strongest and most capable of the Wolves.”

That had Geralt raising an eyebrow down at the Bard who had insisted on walking beside the horse instead of riding behind the Witcher, “Really?”

Jaskier winced, “Well, not in so many words. It was more like…” Jaskier put on a sour face and said gruffly, “ _Too strong for his own damned good, the bastard. But I’d rather have him at my back than anyone else if things get dicey._ ” Jaskier waves his hands as if to push any other parts of the tale away before they can form, “A few more things like that. But that’s my Blessed Wolven Witcher.”

Geralt stops Roach. He knows that title. Knows it applies to Lambert. And suddenly he feels so stupid, “Those are your songs?”

Jaskier whirls and beams, “You’ve heard them!? Well, of course you have. They’ve been everywhere. But what I mean to ask is if you like them?”

“They aren't true.” Geralt frowns, “Lambert wouldn't do half of those things.”

“Artistic license is a tool of my profession. Lambert never seemed to mind. But you’re the only other Witcher I’ve ever met so it’s natural that tastes differ I guess.” Jaskier’s gaze fixed on the road before them, his posture suddenly becoming a bit nervous, “Hopefully Calanthe will like me better than you do.”

\-----------------------------------------BREAK--------------------------------

The short story was that Calanthe did like the songs. Right up until the moment her party was ruined by an unplanned suitor, a brawl, and losing any right to her grandchild she may have hoped to hold one day. Geralt was so distracted by everything that it took him almost a full day to realize he had left Jaskier behind. Lambert was never going to forgive him. As he stared into the fire a day later Geralt wondered what else he was capable of fucking up in his miserable life.

“Well, that was certainly something.” Jaskier’s voice called out from the main road near Geralt’s camp. He had been so distracted by his thoughts he hadn't even heard the other approach. Geralt felt the tips of his mouth twitch, itching to smile as the brightly dressed man waved once he’d been spotted, “So, can I enter the camp? I don’t want to intrude if you need more time to…” Jaskier did something with his hands, a motion that was probably supposed to signify something. Geralt didn't know what though.

“Come over. It’s cold out.” and it was. An odd sort of cold front had followed Geralt from the moment he left Calanthe’s castle. Almost like nature itself was punishing him for his choices. Yet here was Jaskier, bounding over with nothing but his Lute and a smile. Not a scratch on him. It seemed weird that Lambert would be concerned about Jaskier as much as he had appeared to be. Despite a large mouth and loud opinion the man was remarkably good at avoiding injury or attention if the situation called for it. Both useful skills for a traveling entertainer. Still, “I’m sorry I left.” he managed to get out with only minor trouble

Jaskier let out a bark of laughter that almost made Geralt jump, “No apologies needed! That all went tits up too fast for anyone to predict. I mean, one moment there is blood spilling left and right. The next there is a wedding, true love removing a horrible curse. And to top it all off the beginnings of some great adventure has only just begun!”

The more Jaskier talked, excited and enthusiastic about one of the most life changing events of Geralt’s life so far, the more Geralt suddenly didn't want company. Seeing someone so happy about his misery was quickly becoming the last straw on his patience, “Silence bard!” he snapped. Almost instantly all his anger drained when Jaskier flinched like he’d been struck, “I didn't...it’s…”

“I understand.” Jaskier looks sad but also so very empathetic that Geralt can’t help but believe him, “It wasn't my life that changed. I imagine you’ve been thinking about a lot the last couple of days. And you must feel adrift, perhaps uncertain of the future. But rest assured my friend should you ever need this humble Bard you have my services. You wouldn't have been there if not for me so I must at least offer you this much in return. So if nothing else I hope this thought can comfort you in some small way.”

Geralt can’t do more than nod and grunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! I hope your weekend turns out great!!! Leave a comment or a kudos to let me know what you thought <3


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